Nomads
by Hawki
Summary: Oneshot: Slaughter was trouble, Castle knew. Him calling his handgun "Vera" was but the tip of the iceberg.


_A/N_

_Based on the episode _Headhunters_. Adam Baldwin and Nathan Fillion together again. _Firefly _references. 'Nuff said as far as the inspiration for this came from. :)_

* * *

**Nomads**

"You read much Slaughter?"

"What? Course not. Reading's for pussies."

"Ah. Right…"

There was nothing 'right' about the situation Castle reflected. He could take the reading comment in his stride-indeed, he wasn't so keen on Slaughter reading the latest instalment of _Nicki Heat _right now. No. What wasn't right was the fact that a couple of minutes ago, he'd seen Slaughter walk into a theatre, hear gunshots, then see him come running out saying "we were never here." Great plot for a book, even for a TV show, but this being the real world…

_But nothing. Just get back to the precinct. Just-…_

"Nomads, brother!" Slaughter declared suddenly, giving the writer a hard and sudden thump on his shoulder. "Wanderers! Walking the line of the law!"

_You crossed the line you son of a …_

"Come on brother, talk to me!"

"Um, yeah. Sure."

Castle wanted the trip to end. But this being New York, a flight to Rhode Island would probably be shorter. But no, he was stuck with this detective, a.k.a. psychopath, and he'd have to fall back on his former technique of striking up conversation that would take his mind (and hopefully Slaughter's) off what had just happened.

"You watch TV much? Sci-fi…crime…"

"Nah. Reality's more interesting."

And it was a technique that wasn't working. Yet for some reason, Castle felt compelled to stay in his comfort zone of fiction. Because despite how far Slaughter had taken him out of it…it was as if the comfort zone had shifted along with the crazed cop. As if they already knew each other. It was a crazy, baseless thought, yet after seeing the results of so many crazy, baseless acts…Castle wasn't sure what to believe.

"See my gun brother?"

"Holy!"

Holy nothing. Father, ghost, holy spirit…they might as well be playing cards with the devil right now. Because Slaughter had just played the joker.

Or just taken out his pistol.

"Thing of beauty," the detective declared, holding the wheel with one hand while brandishing his pistol with the other, and as far as Castle could see, dividing his eyesight in the same way. "You know much about guns, Rick?"

"Um…no," the writer murmured, not sure how comfortable he felt with this…_thing _using his forename. Then again, Beckett never used it…probably never would, but-…

"Come on," Slaughter said, drawing Castle back into the car. "You're a crime writer. You hang out with cops. I know one of them's equipped with ballistics of a…" He grinned, making Castle squirm, "well, more permanent kind, but I'm sure you've seen projectiles used in a more lead friendly manner."

"Yeah…" Castle murmured, wishing Slaughter wouldn't bring up Kate's ballistics when he was in the middle of mentally training himself not to notice anymore (_or anything else about her…_). "Well, what can I say? I'm a writer. And if I'm not writing about guns, I'm playing with laser ones."

"Laser guns! Pah! You're in space, you still gotta use lead pal."

Castle silently agreed, though he wasn't sure why. Maybe it was the revolver that suddenly popped into his mind.

"Look at this though," Slaughter continued, still brandishing the gun. "I mean…what more could a man want?"

_Sanity? _Castle wondered.

"Custom designed. Flawless breach. Steady grip. Got a gun like this Rick, you won't need any woman. Not with Vera."

"Vera?"

"Yeah, Vera. My gun's name."

"I'm…er, sure she's flattered at the honour."

Slaughter stared at him. Stared with both his eyes. Held the gun. Slowed the car. Slowed it as Castle's heartbeat increased. Alexis…Ryan…Esposito…Kate…would he ever…

"Nomads!" Slaughter yelled, slapping Castle on the shoulder again (with gun in hand) before returning his eyes to the road. "Stick with me Rick. We're gonna be great together."

"Yeah…great…"

It wasn't, Castle thought. None of it.

Not even the revolver and spaceship that kept appearing in his mind.


End file.
